


and the future is certain

by Tropita



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23929720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tropita/pseuds/Tropita
Summary: In the beginning, there was a boy.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. the fate of this man or that man

one. 

  
  
  


The sun was still below the horizon when Sir Richard awoke. Well. Not fully a Sir just yet, but it was important to believe fully in one's dreams. This is what he told anyone who would listen, namely, himself and Sirs Michael and Stanley, who had long grown tired of hearing their hard-won title so easily adopted.

They three were all that remained of their small cohort. Sir Michael was an orphan with nothing else to his name, nothing but what he had brought to it himself; Sir Stanley the only son in a long line of esteemed knights. There had been others to arrive in the old capitol at the same time as they, but there had been strange accidents since the earliest days. The old smith who had handed Richard his first sword hissed to hear the jokes he turned in the name of young George, struck down in his first year.

"Accidents follow the young," said in a low voice, hammer still for once against the massive anvil. "You'd do best to keep from tempting fate like that. Attracting it's eye."

The best advice he'd ever received and he'd squandered it like he'd squandered everything else in his sixteen years, the patience of first his parents and then the only friends he'd ever known, and finally Sir Denbrough himself. How else to explain their absence as he was summoned to Denbrough's quarters so early, so obviously, while everyone was still abed? He had finally said the wrong thing too loudly, too often, and was being given his papers.

He knocked quietly on the door, some stray hope remaining that perhaps he'd go unheard and could creep away, temporary stay of execution, but a voice answered almost before his knuckles left the door. "Enter. Ah, Richard."

Richard - as Sir Denbrough called him when he was first squired, so he was known now - clasped his hands behind his back and tried desperately to remember the instructions regarding posture, casual and formal; hand position, should they be at his sides? No, this must be the one, and in any case, he'd already done it. Too late to change now, indecisive was surely worse than incorrect.

Sir Denbrough continued turning pages on his ancient oaken desk. "You'll have heard the news from one of your compatriots by now, I'm sure?" 

It shouldn't have, but still it came as a shock to realize how fully Stanley and Michael - Sir Stanley, Sir Michael, of course, of course - had moved beyond him that they would have been informed of his failure first. A heavy weight settled in his stomach. "No, sir." 

"Perhaps they've been assigned already, then. You'll need to pack soon." At this, Denbrough finally looked up and must have seen something in Richard's face, for his voice went soft as he continued, "we're heading out, boy. There's been a call from the north. Some kind of great beast has been sighted, and Derry will respond with aid."

"Sir? That is...that is, I'm to come as well? Is that what you mean to say?" A great many too many questions, but surely the old knight wouldn't begrudge him his confusion. 

"Yes, indeed. A desperate time for the call to come, if they're sending squires." Those solemn eyes were heavy as they peered over Richard's face. "This is your chance, boy."

"I know. Sir."

Denbrough sighed. "Desperate times indeed, to be sending the young prince as well," and waved his hand for Richard to take his leave. 

As he closed the heavy doors, too quickly as always, so that the noise resounded throughout the hall, he saw a figure out of the corner of his eye. He looked up the stairs to see the other Denbrough son, the elder. William? He'd left training when George did and was rarely seen outside the estate. Richard nodded, and after a long moment, the other boy did as well.

  


*

  


It had been many long hours on horseback, following closely behind Denbrough, before the grand procession came to a halt at sundown. Still further hours tending to the horses and tack, before Richard was able to sidle alongside Stanley, who he found cooling his feet in the river. "I can't believe you haven't requested for a squire yet," he called. 

Stanley waited until Richard was beside him before inclining his head and replying easily, "Sir Denbrough shot of you at last?"

"Oh! What an honor! A true jape from the honorable Sir Stanley! Gather round, all!"

Stanley reached out to swipe at his side quickly, before he could think better of it, and stepped into a loose approximation of a fighting stance. "Do you give offense, Richard?" Rich laughed, feeling the long hours fall off his shoulders as they scuffled, until Stanley finally threatened to duck him in the river if he wouldn't quiet himself. They were too informal together, especially out of the grounds. It was one of Richard's many failings as a squire, his lack of respect for the knights above him, even those he had known when they still yelped to find spiders crawling along their bedroll.

It wasn't until the last of the saddles and spurs had been wiped down and stowed that Richard realized what had been tugging at the back of his mind. "Where is Michael?"

"I don't know. I didn't see him mount up before we left."

"What! Surely not. He wouldn't have missed this." 

Stanley was silent for a long moment. "His things were gone. But I didn't see him leave, and I don't see him here."

"Perhaps it was all too much for him," Richard said half heartedly. 

"There's something wrong with this," Stanley said. "Can you not feel it? We shouldn't have come."

"It is odd," he responded slowly. "But I can't ask any more questions of Denbrough. Not now."

Stanley hummed out a small noise. "They'll talk more when we reach the town tomorrow. If they're not too busy with the prince."

"Have you seen him, then? Is he really here?" Richard asked, too quickly to be truly casual. They'd all heard the stories, of course, and had seen him watching the training exercises and exhibitions from the royal balcony. The prince had come down to the training floor, once, followed by his retinue. His face had seemed to be made entirely of large, sad eyes, and Richard had held his gaze before catching himself and bowing his head until he'd left. Stanley and Michael had noticed and teased him mercilessly for it for years. 

"He is," Stanley replied, and then, "That's wrong, too." Then he would say no more, and let the quiet noises of the river and the night smooth over them both.

  


*

  


There was no sign of Michael as the camp broke up come the morning. It was another hard day ahead of them, many long miles to go before they could respond to their call. The land around them turned slowly from farmland to low, rocky hills, grey seeping through green. 

Denbrough told him more as they rode: that a man had come to the castle. That the man had been sent by a desperate town. That the man had not been the first to be sent. That the man had ridden almost without stopping. That the man said something terrible had come from the caves. That the man had collapsed with no color left in his eyes.

The young prince - called Edward by Denbrough, one of his oldest advisors left in the court - had listened, white faced, until the man was removed to the physician. He had listened silently, as he always did, to the advice of the knights, and to the advice of the queen his mother, his regent these many years since the death of the king. Listened silently, as she called the man moonstruck and a drunk, as she turned to the prince for his final assent. Silently, until:

"Yes.

Yes, we will go. 

I will go."

  


*

  


It was dusk when they found the edges of the town. Denbrough took several men with him to find those in the town. They were unsure of their reception to come, as it would come without introduction, and those with swords wore them.

The walk into the center of town was as grim as the outskirts, the mix of light grey stones with darker boulders the only variation. As they entered a small tavern, Denbrough caught Richard's eye and nodded at a table off to the side before continuing on toward the back. He heaved a sigh and tugged on the fine leather scabbard Stanley wore at his waist, made his own small nod at the table. 

"Come on. Kid's table," he heard himself say, and wondered at himself. He received a look in response that was no more or less nonplussed than it ever was.

As they sat, a girl with thick red curls hurried to their table. "Is it true?" She asked. "You're the ones who've come to see the monster from the cave?"

"I suppose," Stanley said, quickly. "Yes."

"You're young still," she said, just as quickly.

Richard coughed out a laugh. "Well spotted!"

The girl shook her head. "You don't understand. The men in town, they can't see it," she hissed. "I've seen where it goes at night. Me and him, back in the kitchens." 

"And where do you and him from the kitchens go at night, then?" Richard tossed out, before Stanley could respond again. She gave him an ugly look and uglier gesture, and turned to Stanley. 

"People are missing. Children - they can't see it, and they won't understand. It will get them."

Stanley made a serious face, one that told Richard what the answer was going to be before he opened his mouth. 

  


*

  


Benjamin - for that was the boy from the kitchen's name - told them of the town as they waited outside the tavern. His mother ran the tavern, and had run it alone until the girl had joined them. "She's a real help," said Ben. "Her -" and here he broke off, startled by the heavy sounds of hooves thundering up the road through town. As both horse and rider came into view, the frozen icy weight in Richard's chest eased. Of course Michael had come. Of course he hadn't left them to answer the great call without him.

A second figure, seated behind Michael, became clear as the horse slowed to a trot, then came to a halt in front of them. It was Denbrough's quiet son, the one from the stairwell. Stanley raised a hand in greeting but bit off what words he was preparing as Michael swung himself down from the horse's back. 

"We don't have much time," he said. "We need to find someone to take us to the caves."

  


*

  


They were a silent, overly formal procession through the grey, rocky hills. The low grass made dry, scrabbling noises against the hard leather of Richard's boots; an ugly sound, like branches against glass.

Michael drew to a stop as they turned around a cliff face along a bend in the trail. "Are you certain this is the right way?"

The girl from the tavern frowned. "Of course we know the way."

"Then we're being followed," he responded, gesturing for the others to move behind him, away from the path. "There's something coming up behind us."

Richard could hear the noises now that nothing else was moving. Something was scuffling up the hills just as they had done, all along the creeping pathways. There was an awful pressure building in his chest as the noises grew. Benjamin made a quizzical face and whispered, "I can hear someone...talking?"

And a voice said, lowly but audibly from just behind the turn, "come on. Come on, you can do this," and turned the corner, and was the prince. Richard laughed outright at his expression, a grimace that was somehow pleased. "It's you!" 

"Yes, astounding," Richard exclaimed, in his grandest voice. "You've managed to track down the very knights meant to escort you!"

"Fuck off!"

"Well," said Denbrough's quiet son, into the silence this left. "L-Lucky seven, eh?"

He had scarcely finished speaking when the beast emerged, screaming, from the cave. 

  


*

  


The monster shook free of the rocks and stood fully. It was larger than anything he'd ever seen, and hideously contorted; too many limbs, too many eyes. It loosed a horrible screaming laugh and feinted toward them. Laughing again as they scattered further. 

"Beverly!" Richard yelled out. "Watch out!" She rolled to the side as one twisted leg slammed to the ground, quickly pulled herself back up and further from its reach. She gave him a small nod of thanks.

"Stop," Stanley hissed, putting a hand on his arm. "How did you know her name?"

"I -" Richard began, and stopped. She'd told them, before they'd left the tavern. No. After.

"Listen to me," Stanley said, raising his voice as the creature bellowed once more. "This isn't right!"

The hideous laughter grew louder, and as Richard watched it reached out with one foul clawed hand to clutch Stanley and throw him back into the cave. 

A terrible cry ripped from Richard's throat. He fell heavily to his knees, aware outside of himself of footsteps running up alongside him. The creature laughed again as a hand clutched at his shoulder. He felt his own hand reach up to grasp it.

"Rich - Richie," said the prince, improbably. "Are you okay?"

"How do you know my name?"

His brow furrowed deeper. Such a heavy brow for a boy. "Of course I know your name, Richie. You think I'd forget again?" 

The scream came closer again, as Richie froze. One hand still clutched Eddie's hand in his own. He was holding it, so tightly, when he heard the laugh, as the great hideous claw swung down. 

  


_THIS ISN'T WHAT HAPPENS.  
  
  
  
BUT IT COULD.  
  
  
  
DO YOU UNDERSTAND, RICHIE?_

But he didn't.

__

  


_VERY WELL._

  


And as Richie watched the frozen scene below him, the figures of Ben and Bev huddled around Stan, Mike gesturing between Bill and the caves, Eddie kneeling with his hand clinging to nothing, and the beast, the awful claw arrested in its path: all dissolved around him.

__

  


_I WILL SHOW YOU AGAIN._


	2. not the things you want to see

two. 

  
  
  


Richie walked out of the movie theater in a daze. The sun was too bright after the cool dimness inside. Richie was real crazy about movies, but this one wouldn't stick in his head. There was something about a cave, or maybe an old house. He stared at the posters outside for a while but none of them looked right. He had better not let Stan know he'd spent money on a movie that he couldn't even remember, which was as good as losing it. Maybe worse.

Stan was his brother, or at least they were as good as brothers. They'd grown up practically in each other's pockets and stuck there, and that counted for a lot more than blood, in Richie's opinion. Stan's problem, aside from having Richie for a brother, was that he was just about the most adult seventeen-year-old anyone had ever seen. This would have been a problem for just about anyone but for a greaser this meant he was as good as a square. If it hadn't been for Richie, Stan could probably have just about scraped by as a square. Instead they muddled by like this.

On any other day Richie would have legged it home from the movie and thought about what he would write about it in the book Stan had given him. It was a great book, with a spot for the name of movie and the actors and then whatever the person writing had thought of it. Stan had given it to Richie as a birthday present with money he earned at the shop and it was just about the best gift Richie had ever heard of. He had only filled a quarter of it so far but he was determined to fill the whole thing. 

Richie was thinking about what he was going to say to Stan, which is why he wasn't paying attention. Not paying attention was the worst thing Richie did as far as his teachers were concerned, and probably his parents too. So he was thinking about the movie he couldn't remember, and he was thinking about if he could get away with staying at Stan's place for another night. He was thinking how it was so hot there were waves of heat coming up off the road, and because he was thinking he didn't notice that he was walking right into a fight.

  


*

  


As a general principle a greaser didn't back down from a fight. Some guys really made their whole thing about it but that wasn't Richie's scene. He'd never shy away once something actually got started but he didn't go out of his way either. Instead he found himself halfway up the block before he noticed Henry Bower's Firebird parked at the end of it with the doors open. It made Stan and some of the guys crazy to see him driving it. It was a beautiful car and Henry drove it like a real asshole which usually made it pretty easy to tell when he was coming. He revved the engine at red lights and he damn near wore out the horn and Richie had still walked right into it.

There were two of Henry's guys there with him, standing over some poor fuck on the curb. Henry had been pacing in front of the guy while he shouted at him, which didn't bode well in Richie's experience, and it didn't bode well for Richie having interrupted. 

Henry finally heard him walking and looked up from the guy on the ground. "Hey, greaseball," he snarled. "What's your fucking problem?"

Richie could feel his heart beating in his ears and under his tongue. It felt loud enough that Henry and his crew must be able to hear it. "Why, no problem, officer," he called out. He had walked just about parallel to the whole scene now and could see the face of Henry's chosen victim. "Hey, guy," he said with a nod in the direction of the curb. "Don't I know you?"

"Uh, yeah," said the guy. "We had trigonometry together last year."

"Right," Richie responded. His brain conjured up a beige room with black chalkboards around the guy. Richie, bored, glancing around the room and making eye contact with another boy, crossing his eyes as Mrs. Jens droned on; the other boy huffing out a laugh. Eventually Jens would notice them pulling faces and send Richie out to the hallway, with a warning for…."Ben, right?"

"Hey, idiot," Henry said, aiming a kick at Ben's ribs. "Did you forget? You owe me."

"Careful, Henry," said one of the other guys. "You know these guys are always carrying those knives with them."

"You think I'm afraid of this asshole?" Henry said, disgusted, half turning around to direct a glare. "Or his thimbledick penknife?"

"He stole his dad's! He wouldn't shut up about it at school, you must have heard -" Henry turned around and shoved him hard in the chest. Ben coughed once, then again more pointedly. Richie didn't want to look away from Henry but looked down at Ben anyway.

Ben nodded a couple times, real fast, and mouthed something that Richie didn't catch. He curled his lip up in confusion, like maybe Ben had forgotten what they were doing here, like maybe the kick to the ribs had actually gotten Ben in the head. Ben raised his eyebrows and did it again, exaggerated this time. Three. Richie did a quick count with his finger and then looked back at Ben to say, obviously. Ben rolled his eyes this time and then mouthed something else. Two. 

Henry was looking back at Ben. "I don't care what you fucks think you're pulling right now," he snarled, landing another hard kick somewhere along Ben's back. "One of you got me as good as expelled today, so one of you is gonna have to pay for that." 

"Hey, Henry," Richie said quickly. Stan always said his fast mouth was going to get him in trouble some day and Richie hoped he was right. "You fuck your mother with that mouth?" 

"What did you just say to me?"

The pounding was back in Richie's ears as he looked back at Ben. This had been his awful plan to start off with, so Richie really didn't know where he got off staring at Richie like that. "Ben! One!"

Ben muttered something and then kicked hard at the back of Henry's knees. He pushed himself up off the curb and took off running away from Henry's car, and Richie suddenly remembered the other thing he knew about Ben. "Richie! Come on!" 

Richie took off after him, regretting every cigarette he'd ever smoked.

  


*

  


They were about a couple blocks away, two up and three over, when Richie heard the engine finally catch in Bowers's car. Ben was a half a block ahead of Richie but clearly fading. He had one hand clenched in a fist, pressed into his lower back. "You should keep going," Ben muttered. "He'll stop if he just finds one of us."

"Shut the fuck up and come down this alley," Richie said. 

"I don't know," Ben said. "This doesn't feel right, does it?"

Richie tore his eyes away from the road behind them to stare at Ben for a long moment. "What?"

"I said, don't you hear that?"

And Richie did. It was louder than the grinding noise of Bowers's Firebird, and better sounding anyway. A black Camaro sped around the corner just ahead of them and swung a late, wide turn before coming to a noisy idle in front of them.

When Stan used to ask why Richie spent so much time at the shop, Richie would always give a variation of the same answer: that he just couldn't stay away from Eddie's Camaro. Richie was bad at lying to himself and even worse to Stan, but Stan let him get away with this one. Eddie spent the better part of most days at the shop checking the Camaro's oil and cursing out anyone who happened to leave a fingerprint on it. He was always catching Richie leaning against the door or sitting on the hood. 

Stan threw open the passenger door almost before the car had stopped. He waved his hands at Ben slumped against the brick wall of the alley. "What the fuck happened?"

"What does it look like happened?"

"I thought you were walking home carefully these days," Stan said. His voice sounded mean, but the arm he slid under Ben's shoulder was gentle. He stumbled a bit as Ben took his first step, and Richie jumped ahead to open the backseat. Stan kept his arm under Ben's shoulders as he took one step down, and let the momentum pull both of them in. Richie slammed the door and threw himself into the open passenger seat.

"Hey man, I tried," Richie said. "They were already in the middle of it, I just wandered in. He already knew who I was." 

"That's right," Ben said, quietly. "Bowers and his guy kept talking about your knife. Seemed like maybe he remembered you from something else."

Stan was quiet for a long moment. His voice was incredibly level when he eventually leaned up against the front seat and said, "I thought you lost that last month," he said. "You said -"

"Hey, Staniel," Richie replied, trying to keep his own voice easy. He was concentrating pretty hard on the low hum of the radio tuner to keep his mind from wandering too far back. "Not in front of the kids, okay?"

"Who's the fucking kids in this?" Eddie snapped. "‘Cause I'm pretty sure we just saved your ass."

Richie put a hand in the middle of the bench seat and leaned into it, letting his head roll onto his shoulder as he cooed back, "Oh, my ass is plenty grateful, babe."

Eddie took a hand off the wheel and shoved hard at Richie's shoulder. "Don't touch the driver!" Richie let himself go dead weight against Eddie's hand as he shoved back again, until the car jolted hard as one wheel dipped into a pothole. Ben gritted out a rough sound from the backseat. "You jerkoff, this is exactly why you don't mess with the driver!"

"Focus!" Stan snapped. "Just head toward the shop already."

  


*

  


The shop was the Hanlon Auto Repair Shop where Stan had been working for the last ten months. He and his father had disagreed over whether Stan should be allowed to purchase a car, Stan having taken the pro position. The ultimate result was that Stan got himself employed at the only place that would pay him to learn how to restore the junkyard tin can he currently drove.

Mike's family owned the shop, and Mike was the main reason Stan wanted to take Ben there. They had a pretty good first aid set up on account of all the things that might go wrong like a busted fingers or slashed forearm. They had found that old Mr. Hanlon didn't count all the supplies too closely. That plus the fact that there were a number of back alleys and a side entrance had made it a top notch place to wind up after a fight over the last several months. It wasn't clear what exactly Bowers had done to Ben, but in Richie's experience there was probably going to be something. 

Richie's felt his adrenaline turn quickly to nausea as Eddie whipped around the awful one lane dirt roads that made up the outskirts of Derry. He tried to focus on the yellow and red leaves of the great old trees that crowded above the car but had to close his eyes against the rushing waves of green. As he did the awful pressure in his ears crackled once and receded suddenly.

  


_RICHIE.  
  
  
THINGS WERE TAKEN FROM YOU, ONCE.  
  
  
TIME.  
  
  
WE CANNOT RETURN THEM._

We?

__

  


_RICHIE._  
  


  


"Richie!" A jostling of his arm, then a hard shove. "Fucking wake up already. We're at the shop."

  


*

  


Richie found everyone inside the shop waiting for Mike's diagnosis. Ben might have had the money to go to a real doctor, but they would have asked a lot of questions. It was easier this way, and by this point most of them had an aversion to the authorities. 

Mike was a handsome guy and probably would have been the type to always be tied up with a girlfriend if it weren't for the shop. A lot of people said he and Bev were going together but that was just because they assumed Bev was fast. Richie knew better than to put stock in what people said just because they were both at the shop a lot. Richie liked to go to the shop after a bad day, and it turned out Bev did too. And she had even more bad days than Richie did.

Bev was standing with Eddie as Mike poked at Ben's side. Ben had his shirt hiked up over his side and was sitting up real straight, staring intently off into the big garage. Mike sat up straight and pulled his hands back. "It doesn't seem like they broke anything. How does it feel?"

Ben pulled his shirt back down and crossed his arms over himself, wincing only a little. "Fine. Well, bad. But not too bad. You know." It looked bad but not awful, in Richie's opinion. Eddie probably wouldn't even have to do his Frankenstein stitches.

"So," Bev said. "What the fuck."

"What the fuck yourself," Richie said. "Since when does Hanlon's employ drapettes?"

Ben grimaced as Bev gave him the finger. This was what passed for pleasantries between them. They were used to each other at this point. On the very rare days that Bev and Richie were both having a good day, Mike or someone would turn up the radio and they would dance between the cars. Eddie would yell that they were going to crash into the cars on stilts, but they never did. This was not a good day, and the radio sat silent in the corner.

"Are you recruiting now?" Bev asked. Her skeptical look included the room at large. Ben shrugged. 

"What?" said Eddie, sharply.

"No. Shit," Richie said. He scrubbed a hand across his face, under his glasses. "Not on purpose, anyway."

The side door to the garage swung in. Richie held his breath for a long moment but it was only Bill. He closed the door quickly after himself and bolted it. He seemed startled to have everyone's eyes on him.

"What?"

"What do you mean, what. What you!"

"C-Can't you hear that?" 

There was a low groaning noise from outside. It sounded a little like an old police siren if you really wanted it to, and Richie really wanted it to.

Richie looked at Mike, the pit back in his stomach. Ringing in his ears. "Mike."

Mike was still sitting back in his chair 

There was a loud banging at the garage door. "I know you're in there!" 

"Is that who I think it is?"

Richie nodded, and Stan a second later. "They must have followed us." The banging continued, sounding like it was coming from multiple spots now. 

"Mike," Bill whispered. "Isn't there another way out of the garage?"

  


*

  


The other way turned out to be an oversized drainage gate in the back of the service garage. 

"This is disgusting," Eddie said.

Richie laughed. "That's a funny way to say ‘thanks for keeping me from being road paint,' Eds."

"We'll see who's laughing when you have to get a tetanus shot, idiot."

  


*

  


Bill went down first, then Bev, then Stan. It was unsettling watching them vanish into the ground. After a minute Bill yelled up that there was a little standing ledge. "We'll have to go single file! But I think we'll all fit!"

"Easy for him to say," Richie muttered, and stepped down onto the first rung.

There was a ladder that ran all the way down the wall down into the sewer. The rungs were slick and a little mossy under Richie's hands as he made his way down. It was louder than he expected. The noise of the water sounded like he was climbing down into a river, or maybe the ocean. The wall behind the ladder was mossy, too, wet and dark green. The ringing in his ears was back. He had to close his eyes for a minute. He leaned his head on one of those cold rungs. Eddie had waited a minute to start after him. Richie had time to wait.

  


_WE CANNOT RETURN WHAT WAS TAKEN.  
  
  
BUT STILL.  
  
  
THE ABSENCE  
  
  
TROUBLES US._  
  


Richie opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. There was a terrible pounding in his head, worse than when he had first closed his eyes. Someone was grabbing his shirt and shaking him and it wasn't helping at all. 

"Richie! No, open your eyes! Look at me!" 

What was that voice? Something about that voice made Richie want to really pay attention. He would sit up and take notes if he had to, only he didn't think he could sit up right then. He'd have to settle for Richie opening his eyes. The ceiling of the tunnel seemed a great distance away. 

"God! Okay. Shit. I think you hit your head when you fell, can you follow my finger with your eyes? Richie?"

__

  


_RICHIE.  
  
  
  
WE WOULD PREVENT FURTHER LOSS.  
  
  
  
WHERE POSSIBLE._

  


Richie's head was still pounding. He couldn't seem to bring his gaze away from the ceiling. There seemed to be great jagged edges jutting out, unfinished and rocklike. It looked almost like it was flickering like the sun on asphalt. Richie was incredibly dizzy.

__

  


_WHAT WOULD YOU SAVE, IF YOU COULD?_

  


Richie couldn't remember if he had blinked since opening his eyes. The ceiling was illuminated now, as if by a great fire. The pressure in his ears was pressing in again, and Richie had to close his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with thanks to s.e. hinton and john waters.

**Author's Note:**

> with thanks to the talking heads, tamsyn muir, and t.h. white.


End file.
